


Getting Home

by bench



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Nepeta is a badass, Sort of Gross, the undead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2370074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bench/pseuds/bench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can hear the distant moans of the undead. You want to run and hide and get out of the open, but you're trapped. The sounds are directionless with the way you have your hat pulled over your face and you don't dare take it off. They sound far off enough that you feel confident they don't know you are here for now. You don't know how long that will last. The right gust of wind could carry your scent straight to them, and then they'll be on you like flies on spilled grubsauce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Home

**Author's Note:**

> It makes no since that zombies would be dangerous to trolls. This is my theory of how they could be a threat.

You can hear the distant moans of the undead. You want to run and hide and get out of the open, but you're trapped. The sounds are directionless with the way you have your hat pulled over your face and you don't dare take it off. They sound far off enough that you feel confident they don't know you are here for now. You don't know how long that will last. The right gust of wind could carry your scent straight to them, and then they'll be on you like flies on spilled grubsauce.

But no matter how frightening an encounter with the undead would be they are, unfortunately, the least of your worries. The occasional lance of burning sunlight will snake between the leaves of the tree you are hiding in and strike your half-protected face. You can practically hear it sizzle. You want to scream your pain and fear and frustration at this whole awful situation but you dare not make a sound. The odds of you making it out of this alive are woefully slim. All you want to do is go home to your cave and check in on Pounce de Leon and sleep in sweet, sweet sopor.

It is entirely your own fault that you are trapped in this tree miles from your cave. Equius had yet another argument with Karkat over his silly game and it took much, much longer than usual to get him back in control of himself. You still should have had ample time to get home, but you had spotted the trail of some gigantic beast in the woods. You couldn't resist tracking it down. Thoroughly distracted, it wasn't until the sky started to grow light with the coming day that you realized your mistake. At six sweeps you should be adult enough to keep track of the time of day! Obviously you aren't. Obviously you should get yourself back to your cave and never ever leave again. You sniffle as quietly as possible.

Pounce de Leon must be so worried, and probably hungry too! You need to hunt and you need to tell Equius that you made it home safely and you need to help your friends win their game! This isn't the time to be treed by sunlight and the undead! A beam of sunlight sneaks through the canopy and sears your face just below the protection of your hat, startling you from your increasingly miserable reflection. You to whimper softly with pain. What you really need right now is better shelter than this stupid tree! You miss your cave and your lusus and your husktop. But you are stuck here, the sun is out, and there is nowhere else to go. You sigh, pulling the collar of your coat up to better protect your neck and huddling closer to the trunk of the tree.

You wake to the sensation of falling. It's no dayterror and you hit the ground with a painful thud. Stupid, stupid, stupid!! You spring to your feet with the intention of climbing back into your awful, silly tree and tying yourself down this time, but you hear the bushes rustling behind you. You equip your claws as you whirl around, trying not to growl. Any noise could call more of them down on you. You have to take care of it quickly and quietly. If you let it follow you it won't stop until one or both of you are dead. So one of you dies here.

The undead troll is a shambling monstrosity, degraded almost beyond recognition. You can barely tell that it ever had been a troll. There is much more moss than skin showing, horns long rotted away, eyes empty pits full of fungus that glistens with slime. Its left arm swings nauseatingly as it approaches, hanging by a single scrap of skin. You concentrate on keeping your grip on your claws as you fight down the urge to be sick. It is going to take you perigrees to clean them off after this.

As soon as it is within cutting distance you take off the rest of the dangling arm. Probably not the best strategy fight-wise. The way it was swinging around was certainly throwing off its balance, but now you don't have to look at it any longer which is totally worth it. The cut leaves a thin line of reeking slime clinging between your claws. The smell wafts up and you gag. The undead makes an opportunity of your moment of weakness and stumbles close enough to touch you. You wrench away before it can. You are pretty sure that you would have to cut off any limbs it managed to get it's fronds on before you wound up the same as it. Not to mention the smell. Ugh.

They say there isn't a good way to kill the undead. As far as you know they continue to "live" until they rot entirely away and who knows how long that will take. If movies are to be believed removing the head will only leave the body to shamble on. There aren't exactly any schoolfeeds about how to fight an undead troll, you're just supposed to stay inside during the day if you know what's good for you. The empire probably assumes that if you are stupid enough to get in a fight with one you deserve to die. Kanaya fights them all the time though, why didn't you ever bother asking about that? At the very least if you can take off its legs at least it can't come after you.

Strategy settled, you set in to work. The creature is slow and clumsy, but that doesn't mean you won't be careful. They have a reputation for a reason. You duck in behind it to slash at its hamstring, hoping to end the battle quickly. The severed muscle sends a jet of viscous fluids gushing out in an arc you are barely able to dodge. The reek is unimaginable. It hits you like a sledgehammer to the snout and you lose your balance and fall in a slide, scattering fallen leaves. You struggle to your knees coughing and gagging, claws slipping from your nerveless hands. To the side you can hear the beast struggling towards you, but you can't move, paralyzed by the sickness wracking your body. You vomit all over your knees. At this point you would almost rather just die than have to fight the revolting thing anymore.

But out of the corner of your eye you can see the blue of your hat where it slipped off as you fell. Equius. You can't abandon your moirail, he needs you. You need him. You have to survive this, have to fight. The struggle to get to your feet is the most difficult battle you have ever fought.

When you turn the undead is almost upon you. You stagger back and almost fall again, your stomach already looking to stage another revolt. It seems that the creature's own fall had ruptured some of the pustules on its face and its chin drips thick yellow puss. You hold your breath and avert your eyes, spinning again to fully sever its already damaged leg. It takes a few hacking blows before it falls. You try not to think about it too hard.

Brown-black scum coats your claws. Some spattered up to dot your hands and the arms of your coat. The creature moans and struggles to move towards you, even with an arm and a leg missing. It itches across the loam.

You run.

Despite the sun you don't stop running until you get to your cave. The light is diffused enough by the trees and your adrenaline is riding high enough that you make it with no trouble. Pounce de Leon is waiting for you, concern written all over her feline face. You throw burst into relieved tears and yourself at your lusus. Your face is pure agony, burned beyond anything you have ever experienced. Your hands itch and throb where the drops of undead fell. You are too out of breath to speak or move any further. But despite all that you feel better than you have since you saw the sky start to get light yesterday morning.

You hold Pounce and breathe.


End file.
